Morning in the Bunker
by Rosepixie
Summary: A series of very short stories about characters from Supernatural in the morning (not all are in the bunker). There is very little plot, but it is safe to assume that the stories all take place on the same morning, so small connections may become evident. I have no current plans to expand any of these, but may continue to add more of them over time.
1. Charlie

Charlie felt the sun on the outside of her eyelids and debated whether or not to open them. If yesterday had been all a dream, then she would have to accept that it hadn't really happened when she opened her eyes and she really didn't want it to have been a dream. Well, the part where she had died could be a dream (although, it did seem like Heaven was pretty cool). But even if it was real, the dying part was probably ok. She had somehow come back to life. Or maybe Dorothy had lied and she hadn't died at all. Well, whatever happened she was clearly alive now (since she probably wouldn't have been able to feel the sun if she had died), so it didn't matter. That meant that she really didn't want it to have all been a dream.

On the other hand, if it hadn't been a dream then it meant that she was where she had always dreamed of going, where she could have real adventures. She probably couldn't ever see anyone that she cared about again. There was money enough for her mom's care to be covered for as long as she needed it, but Charlie was going to miss going and reading to her. The reading always made her sad, but it was much better than not seeing her at all. She would miss her mom. More than she already did. But her mom would want her to leap at the chance for an adventure!

Charlie took a deep breath and opened her eyes . . .


	2. Sam

Sam tossed and turned, unable to stay asleep for more than an hour or two at a time. His mind wouldn't stop racing.

As much as he had claimed that the bunker wasn't a home, he couldn't completely deny to himself that it was increasingly feeling like one to him. He wasn't happy about that feeling. When a demon invaded a hotel room he was staying in, it was irritating, but it wasn't as deeply upsetting. That's exactly how it was when the Wicked Witch had shown up in the bunker. It felt like a violation somehow. It was a not a feeling that he wanted to be possible, but it was a feeling he associated with every place he'd ever tried to make a home.

Sam turned over again, looking up at the ceiling, the corners and cracks bathed the soft red glow of the clock's digital face. How could anyplace with a demon chained up in the basement possibly be "home" anyway? Wasn't home supposed to be a safe haven full of family and light?

He remembered what had happened to his mother from the stories his father and Dean had told about it. Maybe that was why these things didn't bother Dean the way they did him - he both knew the feeling of a real home and the feeling of it being invaded by evil. Sam only knew one of them, and not the one he'd choose. None of his attempts to make a home had survived long enough for the safe feeling to sink in before it was ripped apart.

Finally giving up on sleep altogether, Sam pushed the covers off and sat up. As he grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head, his thoughts lingered on Dean, making him scowl. He had felt for a while that Dean was keeping something from him and that impression was stronger than ever after this latest escapade. What was Dean hiding from him? When would he stop playing the older brother and treat Sam like the partner he was?

With a growl of frustration, Sam stalked from the room. If he wasn't going to get more sleep, then he may as well get some work done. Dorothy and the Witch had interrupted his work on trying to use the tablet to track angels. Charlie was gone, but she had helped him to make some progress with the computer. It was time to see if he could get it to work on his own.

At least working on the tablet would distract him from his feelings of frustration and unease.


	3. Crowley

In the old stories, humans who were buddy-buddy with angels were supposed to be all concerned with humane treatment of prisoners and other "good" things, right? So then how were those two idiots upstairs so ok with having a person (sort of) literally chained to a chair in their basement? He had even _helped_ them with that blasted witch and where had it gotten him? Nowhere! He was still chained to the same bloody chair!

Crowley howled out his frustrations and struggled against the bonds that he knew he couldn't break. He knew full well that it wouldn't get him anywhere, but did they really expect him to just obediently sit there day after day and never get angry about it? He was a demon! And not some low-level crossroads demon or something either! Cooperation and submission were not exactly traits that they could reasonably expect him to have!

The room was dark, but he could see just fine. He looked around for the thousandth time for some flaw in his prison. There had to be one. No prison, especially one designed by humans, was completely impervious.

He had been going along with their demands thus far (within reason, of course), but how long could he really bear to keep it up? Not that he'd found an alternative yet, but still, the question stood.

Crowley shouted wordlessly into the darkness again, fully expecting the Winchesters to continue ignoring him. This time, however, the door opened and an extremely tall man stood backlit in the opening.

"Could you keep it down?" Sam asked, clearly irritated. "The sun isn't even up yet!"

"How would I know that, given that I'm locked in a basement?" Crowley snarled back.

"Not my problem," Sam shrugged and shut the door again, plunging the room back into darkness.

Crowley screamed one last time before giving up and going back to quietly attempting to form a plan. He would get out of this demon prison. It was only a matter of time.


End file.
